It’s your turn to shout.”
The little pig was so astonished that he stood straight up on his hind legs and curled his tail in a tight knot, for all the world as if he were a performing pig in a circus. When he was firm on his legs again, he was just going to open his mouth, when he saw the farmer coming down the path, so he ran squealing from the garden. Some Dwarf Roots who tell the story say he was going to gobble up the little Pumpkin, and others say he was going to answer in pig’s rhyme:
“When it’s time to shout,
With my sniffy snout
I’ll smell you out.”
However that may be, the next time he came trotting that way he poked his snout into a wire netting the farmer had put around the kitchen garden to keep him out, so that was the last the little Pumpkin Seed saw of him for many a long day.
But the Pumpkin Seed knew now what he should do. He stood up straight in the sunlight and soft rain, and grew and grew and covered himself with blossoms, and then let them all drop off except one. And out of that he made a little pumpy pumpkin, and by harvest time he had that so fat and round and yellow and juicy that the Dwarf Roots’ mouths water when they tell of it.
The farmer gathered the Pumpkin in a great basket, and his wife scooped out the splendid insides of it and made of them deep rich pies for the Thanksgiving feast that the farmer’s family eat together in thankfulness to God for health and plenty. Everyone comes to the feast: grandfather and grandmother and uncles and aunts and all the children, first cousins and second cousins and third cousins and fourth cousins and fifth cousins, down to the littlest babies that can do nothing, when they’re not feeding and sleeping, but gurgle and crow at their fingers and toes. To be sure, when the grown-ups bite into the deep rich pumpkin pie they can do nothing either but gurgle and smack their lips.
So it was that the inside of the Pumpkin did its part and made a feast and came to glory.